I am told we live on a highway, not a street. General James Reed Highway is one of its names. Because it is attractive, I remain adamant in calling it a street. I don’t think of highways as attractive.
The thoroughfare of our street is at least three hundred years old. I am guessing its attractiveness is in part because it maintains the look of an earlier design, a road for horses.
We have lived on it for nineteen years and only once have I seen a horse. A guy who lived across the street some ten years ago kept two horses fenced in his back yard. Only later did I discover the fence was electric.
I found this out when one rare day I crossed the road. I wanted to say hello to man and horse. As I talked to them, my hand stretched out onto the top of the fence. I heard my neighbor shout something as I felt a jolt run through me. It was harmless. I felt foolish.
Not long after, one of the horses became the greater shock. It escaped. I wish I could have seen it running down the road. I only heard its hooves against the pavement. History being made. I doubt another horse will race this street again.
The horse made its run safely. Maybe it had the timing of a cat with lives to run. I prefer to think it survived because we live on an attractive street not ready to be tainted with the blood of a horse.